blue ; gallavich

33

IAN

I lay in bed, starting at the ceiling in nothing but my tear stained shirt and a pair of Mickey's boxers. The fucker ran away again, and who knows how long it's going to take me to find him this time. Then again, I haven't really tried. Mandy- the only Milkovich still communicating with me- told me to leave him. She said that if he really loves me, he'll come back.

That's what's wrong with this whole dilemma. Mickey does love me, and I know that he does. But now, because of my little fucking outburst, he's gone and he might not come back. And if he doesn't it's not because he doesn't love me, it's because he thinks that I don't love him.

Terry may be in prison, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't watch out for Iggy and Colin. Everything is just so gloomy without Mick by my side, it all seems more grey and grim.

"Ian." I hear a voice practically whimper from the other side of my door. It's Fiona. She peeps the door open, looking at me through the small crack. I pathetically put on a (failed) attempt of a smile- which is painstakingly fake. Fi looks at me, cocking her head to the side sympathetically. She sits next to me on my bed, running her hands through my hair as I lean into her shoulder, sighing a sad wheeze that forces her to look at me in concern.

"How long's it been?" She asks as I stare up at her, eyes wide and puffy.

"Almost two months." I harshly whisper, the fact that I'm able to admit it without a sudden stroke is incredible.

"Jesus fuck." She pauses. "You gonna go find him? Better then moping around in bed for a month." She suggests, and the idea wouldn't sound so bad if I didn't have the fear of rejection. The fear of Mickey simply hating me, refusing to even say a word to my slum face.

I push the covers off of myself and the hair on my arms raise immediately. Regretting my decision to face the cold, I drag myself to a drawer- a specific drawer. I rummage through it until I find a gray muscle tank top. Bringing the fabric to my face, I breath in the scent. It smells like an ashtray and some booze with a hint of musky, winter morning air. His scent. It's enough to motivate me to move my lazy ass and go find the piece of shit who's currently taking over my life, not only possessing my brain but invading my heart.

Not bothering to groom myself or shave, I simply apply a stick of deodorant and toss on Mickey's shirt and some skinny jeans, grabbing my wallet and leaving the house. I hop down the steps to see Lip stumbling drunkenly up the porch. He trips over air, nearly falling and busting his head open as I catch his limp body in my arms.

"Jesus fuck, Lip!" I yell. I shove his body so it's facing mine, my eyes widened with disappointment and disgust. I can smell the alcohol and practically feel the fumes wafting off of his unstable body. "You're barely holding yourself together!" I scoff, shaking my head disapprovingly. "You're worse than fucking Frank! Jesus. You need to go get help."

Suddenly, without warning, a fist collides with my face and I hear my name being called from behind me. Another fist. Footsteps. "Fuck you!" I scream at my extremely drunk brother, slamming our bodies onto the concrete. I fall on top of him, my fist colliding with his jaw as he groans painfully.

"Ian!" A girl screams. It's Mandy. I can tell by the raspiness in her voice and Lip- miraculously- finds a way to stand up and stare at her, sadness in his alcohol-ridden, bloodshot eyes.

"You." He slurs out. "You fucking did this to me. Breaking up with me-" Lip coughs and spits on the ground next to him, "you made me this way!" Lip chucks the bottle obliviously, and without warning it crashes right into my thigh.

"Fuck!" I scream out, collapsing as I grab it. As Lip starts to drunkenly yell at Mandy, my phone begins ringing, the familiar marimba playing. I answer it, and my heart races when I hear the voice on the other line.